Precious Cargo [PM]

[Raelin Locke]

12th of Hamis, 2719

It was a seemingly typical, wet Hamis afternoon on the highway following the Avora River. It was currently deserted, except one four-wheeled, horse-drawn cart trudging toward Vienda. The road was engineered well enough for vehicles to traverse it without becoming stuck in mud, but it was still slow going in this weather – not a torrential downpour, but the rain was steady and cool. Not ideal conditions for Raelin Locke, a wholesaler of agricultural products, who appeared to be making an ordinary enough delivery.

About six days ago, she had set out from her humble farm house in Bad Aisling with a cart full of pumbles and sippa berries bound for Old Rose Harbor. Once she had delivered these to a buyer in Trader’s Market, she made her own investment and purchased some plants that might earn her back some money in Vienda. All of this had been planned out to hide the true purpose of her visit to the Rose.

Recently, the Resistance had finally given Raelin the chance to prove her worth to them. Based on her current trade and skillset, she had been given the task of transporting a fugitive. Most details of the situation were not relayed to her, as she had not yet earned the full trust of the freedom fighters and she dared not ask. She was inwardly excited to be chosen for this part in their operations, and had no intention of ruining her big chance to enter the rebellion by asking too many questions. She even made sure to say very little to the fugitive the short amount of times they had spoken on this trip. Answers would come as she gained more of the freedom fighters’ confidence. All of her focus was on safely delivering their cargo to her homestead in Bad Aisling until they could be moved to another safe house.

Her cart now carried crates of potted middero and rainbow ivy, which she had covered with a canvas tarp to keep the plants from drowning. Not her normal choice of product, but close enough to her area of expertise and worth the camouflage. And though the tarp covered the entire cart well, Raelin had reasoned that it was highly possible she would be searched at some point on the road by officials or even thugs. It was better to give prying eyes something to see, or else the cart might be at risk.

The decorative plants sat on the false floor of the cart, beneath which was a hidden compartment. Locke installed the false floor herself in her barn in secret shortly after offering her services to the Resistance. It was difficult to find just the right dimensions – big enough to fit most cargo, but also small enough to keep the cart from looking suspicious. Her labors paid off, and the result was an average looking, poor human’s cart with the capability to smuggle an array of items…or people.

Admittedly, it was not a comfortable fit, but long enough for a person to lie flat on their back. Raelin had tried to help the poor girl by laying blankets on the bottom of the compartment back in Old Rose, but she knew this provided very little relief. After all, the trip was four days long by carriage, and this wretched weather was not making the trip shorter. The only real relief either of the young women had felt was at night when they stopped to camp in the darkness. It was nearing the end of the second day, and Bad Aisling was still at least two more days way. Raelin had strategically set her horse, Bruce to a pace that was slow enough to not raise suspicions of passers-by, but fast enough to make her deadline. At least Bruce seemed comfortable in this weather, with his bulky frame and extra fur around his hooves. Even in this weather, he pulled the full cart with relative ease.

Still, Locke was uneasy about making it back to Bad Aisling within the time limit set by the Resistance. A tinge of anxiety made Raelin sigh through her nose. At this rate both the young women would arrive in Bad Aisling with a mean case of pneumonia. She pulled the hood of her cloak lower over her face and shifted in her seat in an effort to lessen the stiffness in her limbs. She hoped her stowaway would forgive her for the deplorable conditions in which they were traveling.

[Graf]

A Road Not Far From Bad Aisling

··· 12th of Hamis · 2719 · in the Afternoon ···

Hiss, hiss, hiss. Their footfalls were quiet, and under the creak of wagon-wheels and the ever-present rush and burble of the river, the tap of rain against the tarp, Raelin Locke might be excused if she did not hear them. However, as the little wagon approached Bad Aisling, rattling along the river – with its covered cargo of middero, and swaying ivy, and what lay beneath the floorboards – two dark, bulky shapes could be seen following the road from the other direction, growing more and more distinct through the misty grey. And the sound: the thud and sink of heavy paws in the sticking mud, the hiss of rain on scales. The hiss of heavy tails, pendulous-slow, on the wet road.

Two chroven were approaching Raelin’s wagon. They moved at a leisurely pace, one after the other; the swaying figure in each saddle was hazy, but they were distinctly galdori, slim and straight-backed. Shortly after they came into view, the one in the lead gathered up the reins, turning a little in his saddle to raise a hand to the one in the rear. As both chroven slowed down, the follower fanned out behind the leader. Blocking the road.

They came to a tentative stop. The figure in the lead raised a hand, this time, to Raelin, as if in greeting.

If the wagon approached, it would be able to go no further without charging the chroven. Other details would become clear: the green of the galdori’s pressed uniforms, though muted and darkened by the rain; the thick sash, etched with monite, tugged and ruffled by the damp breeze.

In spite of the rain, one of the galdori – the one in the lead, and the taller of the two – swept off his hat. “Good afternoon!” he called.

Five snaps glinted on his sash, and his uniform was of a slightly different cut than his fellow’s. He looked as if he were in his thirties, but it could be difficult to tell with galdori; he might have been older. He was a true towhead, his close-cropped hair spider-silk blond with only the barest hint of strawberry in his well-trimmed moustache and beard. He might have been handsome in a boyish sort of way, with soft, pleasant features. Little round spectacles perched on his thin nose, so splattered with rain anyway that he had to peer over them to see. His eyes were a blue so deep that at a distance, they almost looked dark.

His fellow sat still and silent atop his chrove, lips pressed to a thin line. He was a little shorter, and much more wiry. His hair was bright red, and he was clean-shaven. He stared at Raelin, frowning more deeply. There were only two snaps on his sash.

Despite his companion’s grimness, the first galdor was beaming at Raelin as the wagon approached. He urged his chrove to trot forward a few more steps, turning outward a little to address the human more effectively. When she came near enough – if she stopped – he gave an awkward little bow in the saddle. Behind him, the other Seventen reluctantly followed suit.

“Insp– Inspector Camille Ph-Ph-Pherigo,” the little towhead called, voice surprisingly weak under the rain, “and this” – gesturing to his grim, red-haired subordinate – “is Ensign Aurelien de Vries. Good afternoon, Madam–?”

Pherigo’s smile did not falter, but he was looking at Raelin expectantly over his spectacles. He settled his hat back atop his head. The chrove was snuffling at the ground, tail swaying. A sort of shiver, almost cat-like, rippled through it, its powerful muscles shifting underneath its sleek black scales. Its mace of a tail swept slowly back and forth behind it, skimming the churned mud.

Pherigo cleared his throat. “This weather m...m-must have made your journey difficult,” he offered, glancing somewhat condescendingly at the horse. “Whence have you come? W-We happen to be investigating some trouble outside of Bad Aisling, and unfortunately, we must inspect all incoming and outgoing traff– traffic.” He stroked the chrove’s shoulders, patting its scales. “We will not take up much of your time.”

[Raksha]

Time Stamp, 2719
NEAR BAD AISLING| AFTERNOON

At least it wasn’t cold.

Emelia stared into the darkness of her little hide away, listening to the drip, drip, drip of some sort of leak that was pooling near her feet. She was damp. She was angry, at all of them, and tired. So very, very tired.

When would she ever just have a place that was for her? A place that she could call home and she wouldn’t be stolen away at a moments notice? A place where no one wanted to care about what Emelia did or where she went or who she was with.

A place for Emmie.

Her green eyes focused on a small sliver of light that broke between the boards of the compartment she was laying flat within, staring at the light and imagining the outside world slowly rolling by.

Would you like to be free?

Closing her eyes, the brunette curled her thin hands into tight fists by her side. Nel—Ava. Ava didn’t want her to be free. She just wanted to use her, like everyone else. They were moving her, stealing her, hiding her away for…for what? For why? Why did they always move her? Why did Ava lie?

Ava was supposed to be her friend. Or at least she was once.

This time had been different though. There was no man in the burgundy coat. Most of the other times she’d moved, he’d been there. The golly with the kind, sad eyes and the warmest coat she’d ever worn. Emelia knew that this wasn’t right, not if he wasn’t there. Maybe he was there, but he wasn’t ready to talk to her yet?

No, it couldn’t be him because the man in the burgundy coat never made her squish into a hiding hole. Not like this. It was always at night, it was always with hushed voices and urgent hand overs. She’d not seen him for years now, not since she was at least twelve. But he’d never taken her with gunshots and screaming.

No, this couldn’t be him.

Emelia opened her eyes, listening carefully as she heard a voice, muffled through the wood and false cargo and rain. Someone was questioning her escort, a male voice?

Could it be him? Should she call out?

Trying to keep herself quiet, to keep her breathing quiet, Emelia strained to listen to the conversation outside. They’d told her to keep quiet, that awful nasty woman with the knife had threatened her to keep quiet. Not like she cared, no one wanted her anyway. No one wanted to keep her around.

No place for Emmie.

[Raelin Locke]

12th of Hamis, 2719

---

Through the thin curtain of raindrops, Raelin saw two silhouettes approaching. As they came into focus, she recognized the shapes of two mounted galdori drawing near the cart, one leading before the other. Locke’s heart rate rose a touch. This would have happened even without the secret cargo beneath her decorative plants. The only gollies Raelin did not endeavor to avoid were potential customers. Though she was confident in her cover, her mind always imagined the very worst scenario in any circumstance, even though she was adept at hiding any anxiety from onlookers.

Once the chroven and their Seventen riders had closed in, Raelin pulled Bruce’s reins firmly with a soft, “Whoooa.” The horse slowed to a stop as the galdori halted their chroven before him, and snorted as if in exasperation. Raelin forced a convincing smile in response to the lead Seventen’s gesture, briefly studying his uniform and body language.

Her eyes shifted for a moment to the galdor that had fallen behind the leader, also studying him. Locke’s signature flat affect briefly dropped to the slightest frown, as if mirroring the Ensign’s expression. She was sure he shared her disinclination for this situation.

She turned back to the inspector and bowed her head politely as they bowed to her. “Afternoon,” she replied in a faintly honeyed tone, purposely accentuating her poor, rural human accent to pander to the Seventen. “Raelin Locke of Locke’s Wholesale,” she introduced herself, with another believable smile. Bruce shifted his feet in the mud and eyed the closest chroven, his powerful shoulders twitching a few times with anticipation or maybe tension.

“Left from Ol’ Rose a couple days back after selling my product,” Raelin answered. “This here is some purchases I made in Trader’s Market,” Raelin gestured behind her with a nod at the middero and rainbow ivy in the cart behind her as she spoke. “Reckon they might fetch me some monetary return for my travels.”

“I’m aimin’ to return to Bad Aisling in a couple days, weather permittin’. Happens to be where my business is based,” Locke explained. “So what sort of trouble should I expect on my way home?” she inquired, hoping the galdor would explain his statement about his “investigating”.

[Graf]

A Road Not Far From Bad Aisling

··· 12th of Hamis · 2719 · in the Afternoon ···

Not even the rain – not even that slight frown, which had not gone unnoticed, despite the smiles that followed it – nothing was sufficient to lessen the inspector’s joviality by an iota. His blond curls were plastered to his forehead, now, and his pale brow was dripping terribly; his uniform’s sash was heavy and dark with wet. There was something almost comical about the way he pressed his hat back onto his head, battered and sad, as if it would help him whatsoever in the already lost cause of keeping dry. That delighted, almost silly smile might have been comical, too.

It might have been. Nothing registered on his face when she spoke, of course; something like bemusement might have come into his expression when he heard her accent, and he might have brightened even more at her good-natured smiles. But – perhaps it was a trick of the rain – something sharpened in his eyes when she mentioned that she had come from Old Rose Harbor.

It was gone in an instant. “Well, Miss Locke,” he replied, “it’s quite a p...p-pleasure to meet you.” The effort of calling over the rain was exacerbating his stammer; as he struggled with the word, a little irritation flickered over his face, but it, too, was soon gone. Shading his eyes with a plump hand, he looked over the waterfall of leaves and vines in the cart behind her, shivering in the chill breeze. “What a fine haul! Oh, my, would you look at all this middero –”

The chrove behind shifted from foot to foot, agitated. The ensign kept his posture ramrod-straight, but he looked more and more exasperated, meeting Raelin’s eye over his superior officer’s shoulder. Oblivious, Pherigo went on, and even shifted in his seat as if preparing to dismount.

“– my wife is simply taken with the white ones; she has been since our honeymoon in Hesse – well –” Pherigo stammered again, wiping some of the rainwater from his face. “I shall not bore you,” he said, as if he were the slightest bit apologetic. “As for that business in Bad Aisling, you needn’t worry, truly. We are simply searching for a missing person, you see. We have reason to believe that someone may be harboring a, ah – runaway.”

Inspector Pherigo said the word runaway without a hint of a stammer, looking Raelin Locke squarely in the eye. Then, his field buzzing bastly with good cheer, he slid from the back of his chrove, boots slapping wetly in the mud.

Heedless of the rain, heedless of the horse and the tired ensign, he pulled his uniform coat closer about him and trundled closer to the wagon. He beamed up at Locke, gesturing with one wet arm toward the wagon. “We shan’t take up much of your time, Miss Locke, we shan’t,” he said lightly. “I am so terribly sorry for the inconvenience. But perhaps – you would care to show me your inventory? It’s simply a formality. And if you’ve any white middero, I – and my wife – would simply be indebted to you. I shall more than compensate you for the trouble.”

He turned away, toward the other chrove, and the sugary-sweet look melted off his face. He jerked his hand sharply, wrinkling his nose with irritation. Ensign de Vries began to dismount and then, looking as if he had bitten into a lemon, followed Pherigo over.

[Raelin Locke]

12th of Hamis, 2719

---

Raelin remained patient through the inspector’s stuttering. Perhaps some kind of tell for his true intentions? Indeed, she detected some impatience from him in that moment. She thought for a moment that the unfavorable weather might be an advantage to her in this situation – no one involved seemed to want to remain in this situation for long, thank Vita. Even the cheery appearing inspector was becoming annoyed, though he was doing a fine job keeping this in check, unlike his colleague.

Upon the word “runaway,” the inspector’s eyes met Raelin’s again. Her gaze did not waver in the slightest, but she did feign a concern expression. “Oh, my…In Bad Aisling? Gods above…” she groaned in an exasperated tone. Of course, she had noticed the absence of his stutter, but gave the galdori pair no sign of this as she watched Pherigo dismount. She also noticed the quick gesture he made signaling the ensign, another sign that his merry façade might be a calculated farce.

Raelin obeyed the inspector’s request. As she climbed down from her seat, Bruce shook the rain from his mane and flicked his tail, as if also annoyed by being stalled. Raelin smiled again at the galdori as she made her way to the back of the cart, adjusting her cloak against the rain. She then untied the ropes holding the tarp down against the wind.

“Actually sir, I did snag one plant with the white blossoms,” she began as she lifted the corners of the tarp, her tone still sugarcoated. She pointed at a plant in one of the front corners of the cart, still barely blooming in this climate. She was not sure exactly what he meant when he said he would “compensate” her – he might just take the plant as some toll to pass this road block. But she knew now for certain she had made the right choice in purchasing these plants. If it meant she could be on her way sooner rather than later, he could have the plant.

“Only one in the Market. Pretty rare, as you know. ‘Opefully, we’ll be able to breed’em soon.” Raelin forced herself to chat a bit, a skill she had been honing since beginning this business. She was normally more of an introvert, but duty called for her to match the inspector’s joviality. She also felt the need to feel him out a little more – How much did he know about this “runaway”? Had he searched others on the road? – though she dare not ask him any questions directly.

[Graf]

A Road Not Far From Bad Aisling

··· 12th of Hamis · 2719 · in the Afternoon ···

T
he inspector caught Raelin’s look of concern and parried it with one of his own. His brows drew together and he began to shake his head. “Well,” he replied hastily, raising his hands, “w-we – we cannot be sure of anything, you understand? And so you needn’t worry.”

Camille beamed at her as she dismounted, and kept on beaming, fidgeting with his wet hat, as she started around the cart. The inspector and ensign followed her. For a few moments, there was only the squelch of boots in mud, the tap-tap-tapping of the rain on the tarp, and the gentle, husky scrape of the chroven’s tails back and forth over the stones. And, of course, the rush of the Arova, underneath all of it.

As Raelin unfastened and drew away the tarp, Inspector Pherigo’s smile brightened. She gestured at the plant in the corner, blossoms wavering to and fro in the wet breeze, bobbing their heads. “Ah, me,” murmured Pherigo under his breath, stammering with delight, “ah, my, that’s just it, isn’t it?”

Up close, the differences between the wholesaler and the two Seventen were more marked; top of Pherigo’s dark green hat was at the level of her eyes, and the ensign’s was even lower. As the other officer approached, however, the air would grow even thicker, even stranger – woobly, as humans tended to call it – with the mona in both of their fields.

For a few moments, Pherigo stood beside her. He peered up at the plant she had indicated, over his rain-streaked spectacles, as if weighing it; he smiled, tugging at his strawberry blond mustache, scratching at his neat beard. Then, with a pleasant shrug, he climbed up to examine the middero more closely, shouldering past a fall of ivy. His boots creaked on the floorboards.

He took a vine in one plump hand, handling the leaves and flowers delicately, adjusting his glasses and squinting at it.

“If you ask me, all of this nonsense will be over in no time at all.” He ran a thumb over one white blossom, his smile grown strangely tender. “In situations like these, more often than not, we receive word that the missing child has come back to mother and father of her own accord, and is most penitent. I doubt you’ll find yourself in the position to do so, but, ah, nevertheless –” He turned, meeting Raelin’s eye. “If you should… happen to find yourself with knowledge of the runaway’s whereabouts. Well.”

Pherigo’s smile faltered, shifting, again, to a look of the utmost concern. He stepped down from the cart, adjusting his hat on his head once again. This time, when he approached the wholesaler, he was conspiratorial; his whole countenance spoke of a concern for Raelin, of a secret shared just between the two of them. He stepped up to her, very close, so that even Ensign De Vries would be unable to hear, and looked up at her through the rain.

He went on, “You would not be penalized; there would be no untoward questions asked. In fact, the rewards would be great, in addition to that simple reward of having found something lost.” He smiled. “Three shills for your white m...m-middero, Miss Locke? On account of its rarity, and of your great inconvenience, I could, perhaps, be convinced to go higher.” His dark eyes glittered playfully.